It’s Rut Season.

It’s Rut Season.

No! No! No! I’m not blogging about bugling bull elk. Nor am I referring to  Rocky Mountain or Desert Ram’s horn smashing battles to ascertain who wins the affections of the neighborhood ewes. (Because as we all know, there will never be another ewe.) 

I’m speaking personally. I’ve fallen into a rut. An unexciting routine. I’m now officially a restless Home Body. 

Camping season is over. Sniff. Sniff. Sanctuary Too is hopefully winterized and ready to handle the onslaught of below freezing temperatures. Brrr. 

Me? I’m methodically transitioning to temperature reductions and early dark-thirty hour. No more camping means staying in place in Durango. It means going from an outdoor lifestyle of crowd avoidance to a mostly indoor lifestyle of attempting  to mingle with my fellow locals. 

A definite sea change for a guy who gets sea sick.

To be honest,  socially I’ve been on reduced rations. It’s not like I’m not trying! Just not succeeding. Much.

Since January 2022, I’ve slept in Sanctuary Too more often than at Basecamp Durango. The reason is simple. When I go camping, I’m making things happen. I’m engaged in the planning, preparation, anticipation and finally the early dawn departures. My campsites generally have big views, the sounds of silence and plenty of solitude. When I’m reading at Happy Hour (with an IPA cradled in my left arm), I’m practically purring. Now that’s  happiness and contentment. 

Out there, I’m not noticing all the couples, cliques and the too many folks who have substituted canine companionship for Homo Sapiens.

I’m performing a classic example of out of sight out of mind. 

During my time in Durango, I’m waiting for things to happen. Whether it’s a volunteer gig, a community event or a rare social engagement I’m impatiently in Stand By mode for the date to arrive. In between those appointments theirs just-me Happy Hours, solo hikes and too many hours spent alone between these four walls of my home. 

Don’t get me wrong! I’ve been to many fun local events and gatherings. Yet I still come away with a sense of being socially unsatiated. All that being said, I’ll continue to plug away in my efforts to become more involved in my newish community. 

See? I’m trying!

Bottom line: When I’m camping, I’m feeling quite alive. Here in Durango, so far I’m going through the motions. That’s a big difference. 

Do what makes you happy. Just so you don’t hurt anybody. 

Cheers,

Jeff

Final Photo: A rare social engagement. Another Happy Hour schmoozing with Colorado Senator Michael Bennett. He’s got my vote. 

Climate Change. Now it’s Personal.

One would have to be taking up residence in a Fox Fear Network/Q’Anon misinformation cave to believe Climate Change is nothing more than a Chinese Hoax.

Not me. 

I believe in the statistics, data and science. I believe my nephew Justin who happens to be a notable scientist and Colorado State University professor.

One day while we were off on a hike, I asked him. “J-Man! (No need for me to call him Doctor J-Man. We’re family.) “Is climate change real?”

“Yes UJ! (Uncle Jeff) It’s real. The studies are out there. No true scientist wants to have a BS flag tossed at his/her work. It’s happening.”

That’s good enough for me. But I’ll add in another postulation even though I’m not a scientist nor do I play one on Facebook.

If Humankind is capable of causing fellow species extinctions, I reckon we can influence the oceans, atmosphere and weather. When was the last time anyone saw a Dodo bird, a Passenger Pigeon or a Carolina Parakeet? From Encyclopedia Britannica: 

“Human-induced extinctions: 

Many species have become extinct because of hunting and overharvesting, the conversion of wetlands and forests to croplands and urban areas, pollution, the introduction of invasive species, and other forms of human-caused destruction of their natural environments.” September 9, 2022.

All this being said, I still Polly Ann-ed climate change would be more of a game changer for my nephews offspring than me. OY! Was I wrong! 

I notice weather. I always have and most likely always will. My High and Low moods and seasonal migrations are weather dependent. I guess you can say I’m a human barometer.

This is what I observed. In April and May, the temperature was above normal,the precipitation was below normal (as in none) and the winds were non-stop annoying. For me the tempest was the worst part of our weather. Do you know how aggravating it is to require two hands to hold down a outside Happy Hour IPA? Trust me, it’s aggravating.

That all changed by the late June’s arrival of the monsoons. At first the rains were well mannered. People in the know played early in order to avoid the afternoon thunder boomers. Evenings were pleasant with puffy cloud sunsets. On the occasions when the sun appeared, there was a new local weather phenomenon. Humidity. As the saying goes, “We needed the moisture.” The fire danger had been mitigated in the southwest of Colorado. Some of the runoff might have trickled down to Lake Powell which is at a record low capacity. (24%. September 2022. Source CNN)) Any lower and the Hydroelectric generating scheme of the dam would be in jeopardy. 

How would those Phoenicians of Phoenix be able to  power their AC’s in the increasingly sweltering summers? Maybe it’s not a great idea to plant a metropolis in the middle of a desert. Just sayin’!

 Ahhh. But in July, it was still relatively warm. By August the rains continued on my mud bowl camp outs accompanied by a chilly damp. My arthritic knees were throbbing. Fleece sweatpants, fleece shirts and a down jacket became appropriate Happy Hour attire. I was concerned about condensation creating a mold outbreak inside the camper. It was too wet and cold at night to leave the windows ajar.

“Jeffie! Did it really rain that often and hard.” YES! On one downpour, I went out and checked if the drug addled Ginger Baker was performing a drum solo on top of my camper. That was the time I had to dig a ditch to release the six inches of water my truck was dog paddling in. I was afraid it would float away into the Mighty San Miguel River. 

All that rain created rutted roads with rocky debris and mudslides.  Trails degraded to become obstacle courses.

The deluges weren’t just local. They were regional in nature. In late August, a 100 year flood inundated downtown Moab. Utah Highway 211 (the road to the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park) got washed out. Many 4X4 roads in the Park are still deemed “Impassable.” Drive UT Highway 211 now and you’ll notice two-three foot piles of sand adjacent to the road. It took heavy duty equipment to nudge the beaches off of the right of way.

By early September I looked forward to drying out in Nevada’s Great Basin National Park. It was dry alright. A record setting heat wave had parked over a multi-state area. It was HOT! 

The Park Service had shut the campground spigots off as a water saving effort against a multiyear drought. 

It’s one thing after another…

Now I’m looking at a full moon in Canyonlands Needles District. It’s unseasonably warm, but I’m not complaining. On hikes and in the campground I’m noticing too many senior citizen Piñon Pines dead or dying. 

For them the rains arrived too late. 

Once again, I implore you to vote responsibility. Climate Change is real. Humans donning rose colored glasses won’t make it go Bye-Bye. This planetary problem requires planetary solutions. 

There’s no time like the present to begin.

OY! That was a wet summer!